He Noticed Everything
by londonlights
Summary: They say that sometimes the projections can change. For most dreamers, it's just random people from the street. For some people, it was the person or thing that they think more about. For Cobb, it was Mal. For Arthur, it was Eames. T for safety.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N. So, a little angsty fic of Arthur thinking about Eames. I doubt anything will come of it, so don't expect an epic-long story or any real plot.  
First Inception fic, so be nice, please (:  
Also, I have no idea how much weight this theory- that projections can take on the forms of friends/colleagues/lovers etc- has, so just take it with a pinch of salt. Going from the whole Cobb/Mal thing, I think it has some weight, since he felt extremely guilty about the whole thing and seemed to not think about much else. IDK. For the purpose of this fic, they can change.  
Oh, by the way, none of Inception belongs to me, like you thought it did... We have Christopher Nolan's brilliant mind to thank for that.**

They say that sometimes the projections, the people, can change. For most dreamers, it's just people from the street. For some people, it was the person or thing that they think more about. For Cobb, it was Mal. For Arthur, it was Eames.  
  
He couldn't remember when it had started. It had just... happened. One dream, the projections were just random people, harmless until aggravated, and then they began to take on small parts of Eames. One night, he'd spotted one man walking with Eames' over-confident swagger that Arthur pretended he hated. Secretly, he loved it. Another night, he saw a woman with Eames' annoyingly attractive stubble. That had been a strange dream. Over the course of the following week, he began to notice more and more of Eames seeping through into the one place that should have been Eames-free. It was like his subconscious was telling him something.

Arthur knew that he shouldn't take such delight in it. Eames occupied almost all of his waking thoughts, so why did he have to plague his dreams, as well? The thing was, the Point Man couldn't help but like it. He liked the way the Forger had wormed his way into his subconscious, without even knowing he was doing it. He liked the way that it was only small details, the things that he noticed most. One day, Arthur had seen Eames wearing a slightly crinkled, hideous tie. Somehow, it was very Eames and, then, that night, he'd seen the very same tie being carried across the sky by a gust of wind. It was the smallest thing like that, but Arthur noticed it.

Hell, he noticed everything.

From the faint aroma of whiskey and cigarette smoke, to the way that Eames touched his almost-there beard when he was thinking. He noticed when he shaved the beard, and always, _always, _when it grew back. To Arthur, Eames was everything that he wasn't. The Forger was confident in himself, easy going. He was flirtatious, witty, charming. Hell, Arthur knew he sounded obsessed but he couldn't help it. When his co-worker was this alluring, he told himself that there was nothing he could do but go along for the ride.

He tried to stop the ride, he really did. Hell, he'd even kissed Ariadne. It hadn't meant anything. He'd simply wanted to see if he could get the image of himself kissing _Eames _out of his mind. Arthur had tried to believe that he could get rid of this feeling, this aching, nagging sensation, but he couldn't. It was Eames he wanted, and Eames was the only one he couldn't have.

How was he even supposed to go about telling him? Eames would probably laugh it off, tell him that he was overworked and overtired. He couldn't face that. He didn't want to be told that this was nothing, just a phase. Perhaps it was, but he felt sure that it was more than that. A huge change like this wouldn't come along out of nowhere, for no reason. Everything had to have a reason, a rhyme, a meaning. There was balance, between event and reason. That was just the way the world worked to Arthur.

However much he liked Eames, that the was one thing he hated. The way the Forger could so easily upset the balance of things. Arthur had always enjoyed meticulous consistency, to the point of obsession, but then the Brit had come along and upset everything. Everything was out of balance, confused. It put Arthur on edge, made him want to sit down and list the 'pros' and 'cons'. That was how he sorted everything out. Somehow, he knew that Eames wasn't that cut and dry. There was no way he could be split into good and bad things, divided up into neat little columns. He wasn't that easy. In some ways that frustrated Arthur. Lists had always worked, for everything. In other ways, it almost excited him. It was new, this imbalance.

The way he couldn't get this _man _out of his head... Never had he imagined, as straight-laced as he was, that it would come down to this. Never had he imagined that he would find himself lusting after a colleague, a friend. A man, nonetheless. It was so very un-Arthur-like. In fact, he imagined it a dilema that the object of his affections would face, though he knew it wouldn't phase the other man as much as it bothered him. Everything was much more simple to Eames. He knew what he want, and how to get it. Arthur hadn't a clue.

It was the night that Eames visited him in his dreams that he knew he couldn't carry on like this. It wasn't really Eames, he knew that much upon waking to find his flat empty, but the fact that it looked, sounded and even smelled like him... It wasn't just small parts; it was the full package. For weeks, it had been building up to this, and he knew that he couldn't hide from it any more. In many ways, this was the inevitable. He'd felt almost guilty, for not telling Eames and he wanted him to know. There was the smallest chance that Eames would reciprocate, and the only way to know was to tell him what was going on inside the Point Man's head.

A deep breath, and several strong drinks later, Arthur had plucked up the confidence to dial the all-too-familiar number, his hand shaking only slightly as it rung.

**A/N. So. I may leave it up to you to decide how the phone call went. I'm not sure if there's going to be another chapter, but reviews might help make up my mind ;)  
But yeah, let me know what you thought of it and if you think I should continue.  
Until next time (:**


	2. Where Do We Go From Here?

**A/N. Thank you for the lovely reviews (: It didn't take a lot to make me write this chapter, because I don't like leaving things on a cliff-hanger... It makes me feel as if it's unfinished, y'know?  
Anyway, I have several unfinished Buffy/Giles fics that I promise will get wrapped up soon, this chapter for this one and another Eames/Arthur based one-shot. I have school and work and stuff, but they should be wish you shortly (:  
As always, none of this belongs to me- thank Christopher Nolan.  
And now for the bit that you actually wanted to read. Perhaps.**

It was the sound of his phone ringing that brought Eames out of his slumber. He drew a deep, annoyed breath, seeing the name flashing up on his screen. Accompanying that, there was a picture of his favourite Point Man, a candid shot of him doing what he did best: working. Eames either didn't know or didn't care how creepy that was. Probably the latter.

Briefly, he wondered about what his colleague was ringing him at this hour for, but couldn't complain. Dreaming about him was one thing, but speaking to him in reality was better. Much better.

For a second more, he studied the picture, before finally answering the phone.

"Hello, darling," he purred, his voice thick with sleep but just as suave as ever. "What can I do for you?" he questioned, rolling onto his back as the cover slipped down to reveal a bare torso.

All he heard was silence from the other end of the line, before a deep breath and then the answer to his question.

"I can't stop thinking about you, Eames. I don't know what's happening, but every time I close my eyes, I see you. I wasn't going to tell you but..." Suddenly Arthur's voice changed from serious, confused, almost tortured, to amused and mischievous. "I've been drinking and it seemed like a good idea." Even across the phone line, Eames could hear the grin in Arthur's voice, could imagine the little dimples and the twinkle in his normally serious eyes. An answering grin spread across his own face, and he turned his Point Man's words over in his mind.

_I can't stop thinking about you._

It sounded like Arthur was describing what was going on inside the Forger's head. How uncanny.

"Eames?"

His name brought him from his thoughts, had him shaking his head.

"I'm still here, pet," Eames assured him, very much awake now. Awake, and engaged in this conversation. "Wondering why you woke me up at... two thirty-three in the morning to tell me what I already knew," he teased, though he had no way of knowing before. It was a bluff, the Forger returning to his usual degree of confidence. "Nobody can stop thinking about me, you see," he grinned, brushing off Arthur's admission. He'd said it himself: he'd been drinking, and probably didn't know what he was saying. That realisation cut Eames deep, even under his collected facade.

"No, Eames, it's more than that..." Arthur took his turn to reassure the other, though he sounded conflicted himself. "I don't know what it is, but it's not some everyday crush." He sounded serious again, almost embarrassed.

"I shouldn't have rung. I'm sorry. Goodbye."

With that, he hung up, the buzzing remaining in Eames' head long after he'd taken the phone from his ear. For some time, he believed it to be a dream, something brought on by wishing that Arthur would reciprocate his feelings, but, when he checked his phone in the light of the morning, it was there, clear as day. One incoming call from his favourite Point Man. A call that he'd answered, that had lasted less than two minutes. Two minutes that were so insightful, but so confusing at the same time.

After checking his phone, Eames rose from bed, showering and dressing slowly. He wanted to confront Arthur, ask him what the hell was going on. He wanted to kiss Arthur, tell him just how he felt, reassure his Point Man that it was okay to feel like this. For he was sure that that was what was stopping him from pursuing this. No doubt he'd been told that these kind of feelings, especially towards a man, were wrong. Sinful. It was what Eames had been told, too, but that was where they differed. Eames did things that he was told not to; Arthur lived by the rule book. He was boring, straight-laced and so very traditional.

Exciting, intoxicating, so very interesting.

Eames wanted to know more, discover more about his normally cagey, 'keeps himself to himself', Point Man. So it was for that reason that he found himself knocking on Arthur's apartment door, desperate to sort this out. From within, he heard grumbling, footsteps shuffling their way to the door. Arthur had said that he'd been drinking, and it seemed he was now feeling it. The door swung open, revealing a grumpy, dishevelled-looking Point Man. His Point Man, as Eames had come to view him.

"Wha' d'you want?" Arthur forced out, only now realising who it was. "Eames." He stated, suddenly sounding a bit more coherent, awake. Worried. Despite having been drinking, he remembered the phone call. At least, looking over his phone this morning revealed that he'd called the Forger and then the pieces had started to fall into place from there. He recalled informing Eames that he couldn't stop thinking about him, and that had been true right up until he had fallen into a drunken slumber. Even then, Eames had threatened to invade his dreams, always there, always on the peripherary. He hated it; he loved it.

Eames, meanwhile, was the picture of nonchalance as he leaned on the door-frame. It was clear to him that Arthur remembered what he'd said, or parts of it at least, and he waited patiently as the realisation dawned on his Point Man.

"I recall you telling me... Oh, what was it? Yeah, that was it. 'I can't stop thinking about you'. Now if that isn't infatuation, darling, I don't know what is." He coupled his words with an understanding look, like he was used to this kind of thing. He was, and was often told how 'sexy' or 'handsome' he was. Women in the past, and men, had told him the same thing as Arthur, but it had never held such emotion. Never held such truth. For that reason, Eames was inclined to listen. Added to that, the Forger had a little infatuation going on himself, and wanted to have the chance to explore it some more.

Upon hearing Arthur's groan, he sniggered. "Did you really think I'd forget something like that?"

"I was hoping that you would."As usual, the Point Man was concise, honest and blunt with his words. It would seem that a hangover and embarrassment didn't change him. Eames mulled this over for a second with some amusement, only now realising that, under his dressing gown, Arthur was only wearing a pair of boxers. The object of his staring seemed to realise this, too, and moved to wrap the robe tighter around him.

"You going to invite me in, then, or do you want to discuss this in your hallway?"

After a moment, he was invited in and the door was shut behind him.

"There's nothing to discuss, Eames. I was drun-"

"You know it was more than that, darling. Drinking only removes inhibitions that being sober forces on you."

"Clearly you live in a perpetual state of drunkenness," Arthur muttered to himself, referring to the way that Eames had little to no inhibitions, or anything stopping him doing what he wanted.

"Stop changing the subject." For once, Eames was serious.

"What do you want me to say?" Arthur demanded, finally turning to face his colleague. "I was drunk and said some things that I shouldn't have done. Do you want me to apologise?"

To his surprise, he found himself backed up against the kitchen counter, the granite digging into his lower back. Eames had closed in, in front of him, successfully invading his personal space. Strangely, Arthur found that he liked it, the way that Eames' scent tickled his senses, the way his cologne mingled with his own, personal scent.

"What are you doing?" he breathed, looking up at the slightly taller man in surprise. He raised his hands, trying to push Eames back but the Forger was having none of it.

"Are you sorry?"

"What?

"Are you sorry that you told me?"

Silence.

"No."

A pause.

"No, I'm not sorry that I told you. You had a right to know."

"Now we're getting somewhere," Eames grinned, pressing closer to his colleague. His Point Man.

Then, suddenly and without warning, he'd crushed their lips together. It took a second, but he felt Arthur responding. It was heated, hands were tugging at clothes and names were being gasped, and then Eames had pulled back. He took a half step away, watching as Arthur ran a hand through his hair, as if, by restoring order there, it would order the rest of this situation.

"Where do we go from here?"

Eames offered a throaty chuckle, straightening his shirt.

"How about we start with lunch? I know a nice little place."

And just like that, things settled back into their normal routine. They teased each other, annoyed each other endlessly but they always made it up with a kiss, a knowing look. That was where things had changed.

**A/N. So, how was it? Personally, I'm not entirely happy with it but I can't figure out why. Maybe, when I figure it, it'll get reposted but, for now, this is it.  
Hope you enjoyed it!  
Reviews are lovely, and watch out for another Eames/Arthur fluff-based fic that should be coming to you in the next week or so (:  
Until next time.**


End file.
